


Peppermints

by huesofmay



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cullen smiles in this one, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Dalish Lore, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Mutual Pining, Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huesofmay/pseuds/huesofmay
Summary: Inquisitor Lavellan offers an old Dalish remedy for headaches when Commander Cullen reveals his struggles with lyrium withdrawal. Something about their relationship feels...different afterward.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford & Lavellan, Cullen Rutherford/Elf Inquisitor, Cullen Rutherford/Mage Inquisitor, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Peppermints

Midsentence, the commander’s knees buckled, and he sank like a stone from a child’s hand. For a sickening moment, Farrah thought he would collapse to the floor, but he caught himself on the edge of the desk and held on for dear life. 

“Cullen?” She rushed to him, but he held up a hand, his eyes downcast. Instinctively, she froze. Though she was technically his superior, he had a charismatic leadership that was impossible to resist. When he gave a command, you obeyed. 

As she watched, he caught his breath. Relinquished his grip on the desk. Ran a hand over his haggard face. Creators, he looked tired. 

“It’s getting worse,” she said. It wasn’t a question; there was no room for denial, though she expected he would offer one anyway. He had warned that lyrium withdrawals would be intense, but this…it was eating away more of him each day. 

“Yes,” he admitted to her surprise. He eased into his creaky wooden chair and let his face fall into his hands. “But it has to before it can get better.”

She stood fidgeting for a moment, torn. Should she go? She had the distinct impression that she wasn’t meant to see him this way—was this how humans felt about nudity?—but on the other hand, she didn’t like the idea of leaving him up here alone in his present condition. Unsure what else to do, Farrah moved to stroke his back as she would do for an exhausted hunter coming off the watch back in the Dales. With her hand already in the air, she realized the impropriety of such gesture and ended up just giving his shoulder a stiff pat. Her cheeks burned. He was a shem in her army, not a friend in her clan. But he either hadn’t noticed her touch or hadn’t cared, for his face still lay buried in his thick gloves.

A long moment passed before her mortification eased enough for her to ask, “Is it another headache?” 

Cullen offered a muffled grunt in the affirmative. He leaned back in his chair, his hands still pressed to his face, and said, “Everything else I can manage. The nausea, the tremors, the fatigue…but these headaches…I can’t think straight. It’s like a dwarf is trying to mine diamonds behind my eyes.” 

“Sounds percussive.” 

“Mm.” 

Farrah felt that he wanted to be alone, but she found that she couldn’t make herself leave. He looked as thin and withered as a leaf in autumn and seemed in that moment every bit as fragile. She imagined he might crumble to dust in her hands if she were brave enough to touch him. 

She couldn’t stand it. He may be a human, and an ex-templar at that, but he was also a decent man trying to do a decent thing. He didn’t deserve to suffer like this. Before she knew what she was saying, she found herself speaking. 

“Would you let me try something?” 

He dropped his hands and peered at her in confusion. “I…what do you mean?” 

She hesitated, deliberating. Then she straightened, took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“I know a trick, a bit of Dalish magic my mother taught me to help my father. He used to get headaches, too, so debilitating that he couldn’t get out of bed. Our keeper called it taren assan. ‘Arrow in the mind.’ He couldn’t bear any light, couldn’t stand even the sound of the birds in the trees. The only time he felt any relief was when my mother cast this charm for him.” 

Why was she telling him this? In all the months she had been with the Inquisition, she hadn’t revealed so much about her family to anyone. Not even Solas. She cleared her throat and pressed on. “It’s not much, but it’s…well, it’s better than nothing.” 

He studied her for a moment. “Dalish magic?” he asked, doubt and curiosity scrawled across his face.

“It’s nothing illicit, I promise. It’s more of a home remedy than anything. Most scholars probably wouldn’t even acknowledge it as proper magic.”

“I…wouldn’t want to put you out. I’m sure you have other appointments to keep,” he said carefully. She couldn’t tell if he was still wary of her proposition or if he was just being polite. 

“Actually, I had blocked out the afternoon for your tactical brief, so it really wouldn’t be any trouble,” she said.

“You’re very kind, Inquisitor, but you needn’t worry about me. I’m—” 

She never found out what he was, because at that moment, another wave of pain swept over him and he doubled over again, clutching his face with a hiss. 

This time, she didn’t think twice before skirting around to the back of his chair, taking his head in her arms, and starting to sing: 

“Somniaras, ma vhenan  
Haminas in atish’an  
Ar dirtharvo ma enasalin et ghilano”

As she sang, tendrils of white light unfurled from her fingertips and wove into his blonde curls. Gradually, she felt the tension ebb from his neck and shoulders. The grimace of pain melted away and his eyes drifted shut as she sang the last lines. 

“A shirala cer Arlathan  
Somniaras, ma vhenan”

It was a long moment before either of them realized the song had ended. There was no good reason for her to keep her face pressed into his hair with her arms looped around his neck, yet she found once again that she did not want to move. He smelled like the regulation soap of Skyhold and something else, something sharper…a dish of red-and-white candies tucked behind the abacus caught her eye and she smiled.

“Peppermint.”

“Hm?” he asked. He spoke as if in a trance, his eyes still closed.

“I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.” 

“Always have,” he said, “Ever since I was…” He opened his eyes and noticed for the first time that her arms were around him. 

The moment burst like an overripe berry. They jerked away from each other and scrambled to the far corners of the room. 

“I’m sorry,” they said simultaneously. Then the stammered apologies spilled out. 

“So improper of me—” 

“—didn’t mean to offend—” 

“I just wanted to help—”

“—simply surprised by your proximity—” 

Silence fell as their eyes met. She couldn’t read his expression, but she could guess his thoughts. She disgusted him. A knife-ear, a mage knife-ear with no regard for custom. They couldn’t be more different from one another. He was the Chantry’s golden boy, or had been, and she was a savage from the woods. He was willing to interact with her in a professional capacity, but he wanted nothing to do with her Dalish homeopathies or her good intentions or her bad manners. He was just trying to figure out the most diplomatic way to say so. Well, she would spare him the trouble. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Commander. It won’t happen again.” She gathered the remnants of her dignity and turned to leave.

She was halfway out the door when she heard his reply: “I wish it would.” 

She paused, dug a finger in her ear, and turned to fix him with a hard stare. “Did I hear that right?” 

“You were…I mean, it was, er…” She thought she saw his cheeks flush red. “What I mean to say is that the headache is gone. The dwarf has packed up his pickaxe for the day.” 

Farrah smiled, flooded with strange relief. For what? He’s my commander. He can’t lead if his health is compromised. But it was more than that. That much she knew, even if she wasn’t willing to admit it to herself. 

“I didn’t even have to sacrifice a virgin! You’re able to think clearly, then?” she asked, sounding more jaunty than she felt.

“Clearer than I have in ages.” 

He was staring at her again, and she felt another rush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment. 

“You mentioned that you had the afternoon free?” he continued.

“Yes…?” Another little thrill ran through her. 

“Would you perhaps like to....take a turn about the battlements? With me?” he asked, stumbling over the question. He was actually smiling a bit, and the expression transfigured him. He still looked gaunt and worn, but the haunted look had lifted from his eyes, and with it, a weight from her heart.

“To check the defensive measures in place, of course, and to, er….monitor the troops,” he added hastily. 

Farrah felt herself beaming at him in spite of herself. Men were the same across all races, it seemed. 

She adopted a haughty tone of authority and teased, “The Inquisitor accepts your invitation, on the condition that you bring peppermints.”

His smile deepened into an actual grin and Farrah had trouble breathing for a moment. The air must be thinner so high above the grounds. Cullen strode over to Farrah and thrust the entire candy dish into her hands with a boyish glint in his eye. 

“Tell the Lady Inquisitor that I am amenable to her terms.”


End file.
